#*WHISKEY BENT AND HELL BOUND [SELF]

[cypressspectre]

Tag Dump - 1/?

🔥 Ride to Live - Live to Ride. { AESTHETIC }

🔥 Whiskey Bent and Hell-Bound. { APPEARANCE }

🔥 Where’s the Devil When You Need Him? { ASK }

🔥 Where Eagles Dare. { COMIC }

🔥 Jesus Built My Hot Rod. { CRACK }

🔥 Sin with a Grin. { DESIRES }

🔥 Wanted: Dead or Alive. { HC }

🔥 Madness in Me. { MEME }

🔥 God’s Gonna Cut You Down. { MUSINGS }

🔥 Out of Mercy. { OOC }

🔥 Bad Company. { PROMO }

🔥 Fire It Up. { QUEUE }

🔥 Done All Wrong. { REFERENCE }

🔥 Survival of the Sickest. { SELF-PROMO }

🔥 Devil’s Spoke. { SENTENCE STARTER }

[boneandfur]

Closure [5]

Chapter Five ~ The Bodyguard (Drake)

Song: Runaways, The Killers

Words: 1765

Catch up:  Masterlist

Tag list: @drakewalkerwhipped @mfackenthal @alicars @youwontlikewherewewillgo @ninamckenzie22 @theroyalweisme @hopefulmoonobject @pbchoicesobsessed @topsyturvy-dream @viktoriapetit

Summary: Drake's obsession with Lilly has already destroyed three marriages. Why he stays at court is anyone's guess. But tonight is a night for intrigue and dark secrets -- and some people will do anything to discover them...

"Are you Aunty Vannah's big brother?" Big bwuvver. 

Drake looks down at Sophy. She's been brushing, braiding and decorating  the grey pony's mane for half an hour, clearly in little girl heaven. "Yeah, Short Stuff. I'm her big brother. Guess that makes me your uncle in law." 

Sophy screws her face up thoughtfully. "Why?" 

"Because -- never mind. Just call me Uncle Drake, kid." It's uncanny, but this little girl could pass for the miniature version of Liam's mother. She has that Rys look about her too. For a long time he'd thought she was his daughter too, but now, meeting her face to face at last, he's not so sure. Hell, the entire foundation he built his life on cracked when he met Lilly that night in New York City. What's one more? 

"Tell me about yourself, kid. What's your favorite color?" 

Sophy frowns at him. "Silver, silly! But Mummy made me wear this. I don't like it." She has a temper. It would be painfully adorable if Drake were a sentimental man (he isn't). "Is Aunty Vannah here? I miss Percy." For a long moment he thinks she might cry, but she composes herself admirably. She is strangely self-possessed for a mere seven year old. 

Percival. Drake's nephew is a mischevious, dark haired child of four, about to start école maternelle in the autumn. He has a stuffed hippo he takes everywhere with him. Drake has always found it to be an odd attachment, but now he is beginning to wonder, a suspicion creeping into his mind. Savannah has never shared why she left Bertrand a second time, throwing herself into her career as a freelance columnist in Paris. Bartie and Percy look as alike as cheese and chalk. Bartie looks like Drake and Savannah's side of the family, and Percy... Drake runs a hand across his face. Percival Maxwell Beaumont. 

"Yeah, maybe. Do you want me to ask her?" Savannah covers the European nobility beat. It is her connections to the Cordonian court that got her the job in the first place, without a university degree she would have been doing menial work. He has to acknowledge -- grudgingly, but still -- that their royal patronage has come in handy. For two kids who grew up on the fringes of the Cordonian court, they couldn't have done better. 

Whether or not they could have done worse remains to be seen. Sometimes, Drake thinks he's already had a lifetime of courtly intrigue twice over. No wonder Savannah ran twice. 

"Please," Sophy says, batting her lashes. She looks so much Lilly in that instant that it rocks Drake to his core. 

Are you coming tonight? he texts Savannah.

Yes, I'm just pulling in. Nervous. It's been awhile. Why, is my big brother worried for me?

Lilly's here. 

He can almost see her grimace on the other end. Fuck. Thanks for warning me. 

What's the problem? LOL

You of all people should know the answer to that, Drake!! >:(

Does it have to do with my nephews?? Because you might want to brace yourself, their fathers are here too. With that, he silences his phone. He's no Cupid, but maybe at least one couple can walk away happy this night. 

At that thought, his gaze falls on Jack. He's feeding an apple to his pony, talking in a soft voice to it as he looks deeply into its eyes. Drake's heart leaps in his chest. 

When Olivia had first broken the news of her pregnancy to him, he'd run away -- straight into Lilly's arms. Lilly had stoked his greatest fears about Olivia's fidelity as they drank whiskey together, and then she had kissed him. He'd fallen into her familiar arms, drunk on the scent of her arousal, wanting nothing except to forget the world with his cock buried in Lilly. And he had -- Oh, God, he had. And every time he tried to end it, there was always another (small, helpless) reason he could never cut the ropes that bound them together. 

I can't leave him, Lilly would sob, so wretched that he hated both her and himself. Who else would have me? 

He would. How many times had he begged her to run away with him, to the ends of the earth and beyond? But she always had an excuse, always had some unarguable reason to stay with Maxwell. Irresponsible Maxwell, frittering away their fortunes in the casinos of the Cote d' Ore. 

As for proud Olivia, she had become Liam's mistress in truth, and it was easier to believe that Jack was Liam's son, rather than take the responsibility for abandoning his own child. Yet he'd stayed at court, never able to stray far, never able to forget Olivia despite his failed marriages, despite his obsession with Lilly.

His lust for Lilly has already ruined three marriages. She is his downfall, his greatest addiction. When he fucks her, it feels both wrong and right. She always claimed Beaumont didn't know how to please her, that he couldn't make her come. But it's painfully obvious to anyone with eyes that Maxwell is still in love with the woman. Maybe he never got the memo. 

Well, he certainly has now. 

Drake's glad these children aren't in the ballroom. Jack is one thing -- with Olivia for a mother, he always lands on his feet. Just what was Lilly thinking, bringing Sophy along? 

She's just like me, Drake, Lilly told him once. She needs to learn how to be strong. When I was her age, my childhood was already over, and I didn't even know it. She needs to be prepared. Pull one stick out, and the whole structure collapses. You think your life is hard? You've had it easy. 

Lilly never would explain further, but her words chilled Drake to the core. My childhood was already over... Lilly never shared anything about her past with him. It was as if she'd arrived in Cordonia newly brought alive from clay by the gods, as though she'd had no life before this one. 

And there are not many records on her either. Bastien has shared the background check with Drake, and back then he hadn't cared, but now he wonders. He has so many questions for Lilly. Whoever she is. 

Nothing beyond a registration for a social security number some twenty three years before, and a slew of hospital records. After fourteen, there is nothing. Radio silence. She claims she went to university, but where? Under what name? In this day and age it's nearly unthinkable that a person can fly under the radar for so long. 

"I thought you'd be in here." Savannah hugs Drake, setting down her clutch, a black and gold Prada. She is wearing a press badge and is dressed like a Parisian, all black clothes and an air of elegance despite the shadows under her eyes. She looks at Jack and Sophy, then back at Drake, but says nothing. Little ruffles Savannah these days. 

"Aunty Vannah!" Sophy squeals, flinging herself into Savannah's arms. "Did you bring Percy?" 

"I did not," Savannah says in a soft voice. "He is asleep, I have a nice girl watching after him and Bartie at the hotel. This is a party for grown-ups, Sophy."

Sophy frowns, stamping her foot. "Mummy said it was a party for me."

Savannah's eyes meet Drake's over Sophy's head. Her mouth is pressed in a thin, unforgiving line. "Where is Lilly?"

"Dancing with Liam." The hurt those words would once bring has faded to a mere echo. "A solid power play by House Beaumont. Their star is rising. Olivia is... unpredictable. Hana wants her out." 

Savannah smiles, stroking his cheek. "My big brother, who hates all nobles, talking about courtly intrigue?" 

Drake stiffens. Sophy has joined Jack on the other side of the ring, their heads bent together, whispering. He turns his attention back to Savannah. "They're not nobles. They're my friends."

"Even Olivia?" she teases him lightly. "I remember there was a time when you were head over heels for her. And she -- well, she's always been in love with you." 

Drake remembers -- a screaming match and then a scorching kiss, Olivia in his arms until the sun rose, waking in surprise to find her in his arms, curled up against him like she had always belonged there. Yes, Olivia. He sighs. "I never thought I'd fuck this life up so bad, Vannah."

She laughs, and he's glad to hear it. Savannah has had little enough joy in her life besides her children, since she went away. "You didn't fuck your life up, Drake." 

"No, but I --"

"Here." Savannah passes him a Polaroid photo from her purse. "Gemma, Talia, Annelyse and Valentina." Four little girls with his mother's eyes stare up at him from the glossy paper. "Do you think their lives would be any easier if they lived with you?"

"How can you ask me that?" Drake chokes, overcome with emotion. "They'd be my little girls and they'd live --"

"Here at the palace, while their mother fucked the king? Or a hand to mouth life on the run?" Savannah shakes her head. "And what about Sophy and Sei? Would you take their mother from them as well?" 

Drake clenches his jaw. "Why did you show me this, if you were only going to break my heart again? Are you a monster?" 

"Of course not," Savannah whispers. Her eyes glitter in the lantern's light, and he can see that she is crying. "I want to help you."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing it."

"Listen to me, Drake. Maxwell is the only father those girls know. You don't know how much he loves them. He'd give anything to keep them safe." 

"What are you implying?" Drake demands. "Blackmail?" 

"One star falls and another rises. Such is the way of the court. With their star on the rise, House Beaumont will want to sweep everything shady about Lilly under the rug. I've already made the  arrangements with Bertrand. The girls will live with me in Paris, except..." she turns her head, her eyes going wide in shock. "Sophy? Sophy!" 

Drake feels his heart sink like a stone. "Jack!" He shouts, his heart in his throat. "This isn't time for games, Jackson Nevrakis! Come out right now!" 

But the children do not answer. Sophy and Jack have vanished, as if they've never been. Only a scrap of green fabric flutters sadly on the edge of the corral, twisting and turning in the wind. 

==

Ecole maternelle - kindergarten

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list. Sorry if I forgot anyone!

[hornsbeforehalos]

Anytime, Sweetheart: Part 5

Pairing: JDM x OFC (RPF)

Features: Ackles & Padalecki Families, R2, Misha Collins & Vicky Vantoch, Norman Reedus, Andrew Lincoln, Kim Rhodes, Briana Buckmaster, Ruth Connell, Corey Taylor and other cast members & OFCs* *THIS IS AN RPF FIC**

Series Masterlist Summary: (I’m horrible at summaries, but let me try): Kylin Ackles runs to her brother’s house after leaving her abusive boyfriend of 3 years, where she meets Jeffrey. Events unfold that bring them together, as well as push them apart.  Warnings: Emotional abuse, Physical Violence, mentions of rape, cursing, drinking, recreational drug use (weed), Strip Club, RPF, NSFW**, GIFs, implied smut, Age Difference, Slow burn, Emotional rollercoaster, poorly written smutt, etc… 18+ please

(A/N: This is strictly a work of fiction that I came up with off the top of my head. For fictional purposes his S/O & Son are not mentioned. I love him and his little family, though, so no hate intended. This is the first time posting anything on Tumblr, but I couldn’t get it out of my head since my ao3 fic is currently on hiatus because writers block. Feedback is appreciated. unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.)

TAGS: @jml509 @jesbakescookies @daddy-kink-confirmed @wayward-mirage

​   “Ho-Lee Shit, baby doll!” Jeffrey bellowed as I walked out of the bathroom from getting ready. 

   My red dress was floor length, but not overly formal. It was flowy with slits on the sides to show off my legs when walking, and had a scooping neckline that gathered around my belly, exposing some cleavage but not anything that would send me on the expressway to Hell. My black strappy heels lengthened my legs and showed off my calves. I had opted for loose curls in my hair and dramatic black eyes shadow and lashes but only gloss on my lips. There was even a nail salon below Jeffrey’s apartment complex so I had splurged on sharp black claws and a pedicure after lunch. I beamed at his praise again as I took in his ever-sexual form myself. He was in a button up shirt that had almost the exact same hue as my dress, which he assured me was a total coincidence, as well as nice dress slacks and the black blazer I had recently given back to him. He looked like a sex god on a stick. He quickly pulled me to his chest and ran his hands down my sides as he bent over to nuzzle his beard across the sensitive flesh that was my neck. 

“You look divine​, Ms. Ackles​.” He growled as he rocked us side to side.

“Why thank you, Mr. J” I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his neck.    "Anytime, Sweetheart.“ There they were again, those two words. I couldn’t help the hum that rang through my chest. 

   He pulled away to look me up and down again, shaking is head as his eyes roamed with his tongue between his teeth. He kissed me on the forehead before turning and grabbing a box from his coffee table that I hadn’t noticed. It was wrapped in red sparkling wrapping paper and had a black bow. He held it out to me. "What’s this?” I questioned as I took the box from ​hi​s hand.    "I missed Christmas. And flowers aren’t the best birthday gift.“ he grinned and brushed his beard down.    I smiled back at him and begun unwrapping the paper. I pulled it all off to reveal a black suede jewelry case. I looked up to Jeffrey and he had crossed an arm across his ster​n​um to hold up his other arm at the elbow that was rubbing his chin. I opened the box to reveal the most beautiful chocolate diamond and rose gold owl pendant. I gasped as I touched it, words not forming in my brain.

  "This is too much, Jeffrey. How much did this cost you?” tears formed in my eyes against my will. ​​   “Just a couple hundred thousand, nothing serious” he deadpanned as my eyes went wide, “I’m kidding, sweet heart. But don​'​t worry about it. You deserve it.”        He reached for the box in my hand and removed the necklace. He walked behind me as I held my hair to the side so he could place the necklace on me and fasten the clasp. He let his cool fingertips run down my neck and onto my shoulders, eliciting shivers down my spine. He bent down to nuzzle his beard into my hair again, causing my breath to catch in my throat once more. ​    "Perfect,“ He breathed, dangerously close to my sensitive skin. He took advantage and ​let his lips drag themselves across the flesh of my exposed neck, "Always so perfect.”    I looked down to gather myself from the haze that was provided by his words before returning my stare to him though my lashes. I smiled lightly as he moved in front of me again and put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re too good to me, Jeff.”    "No one is ever too good for you. Always never good enough.“ He cupped my face into his hand and leaned in to kiss my forehead before extending his arm out for me, "Shall we?” “We shall” I laughed. 

      He had made special reservations at a very nice restaurant that neither of us could pronounce the name of. We sat in a back booth of the dimly lit area, sipping wine and laughing a little too loud about absolutely everything.       “And then Dani just screeched at me as loud as she could ‘Get these fucking things outta me!’ while almost breaking my fucking hand! I swear to God if I ever have children then I want to be loaded up with the best drugs on the market. All that other bullshit is insane. I feel so bad for Gen right now.” I laughed, taking a sip from my glass.       “Who in the hell would do that to themselves? Twins especially? And Genevieve should know any kid of Jared’s is already bound to be a fucking bowling ball.” He barked before taking a bite of his steak      "That’s what I said!“ I huffed as I stabbed a piece of my own strip as well.       "So,” I spoke, trying to swallow my bite as I brought my napkin to my mouth, “Where are we watching the fire works?”    He narrowed his eyes at me and chuckled before looking down to his plate, “You can’t let anything be a surprise, can you?” My response was me rolling my eyes. “The roof.” he pointed upwards with a mouth full of potato.

    We were standing on the roof of the building, surrounded by a bout a hundred other people, but the only person in my line of vision was Jeffrey. I looked up at him, arms around his neck, feeling his hands at my hips as he swayed us to the rhythm of the music being played. 

   "You’re so fucking beautiful.“ He breathed, leaning down to touch his for head to mine. I closed my eyes and smiled as the 10 second countdown began. I raised my eyes back to him as the seconds ticked by, and found myself lost in his irises. He rubbed his hands up my body and pushed them into my hair in the final seconds,

    "3…2…1” he whispered, although at this point i was completely oblivious to anything else around me as he inched his face closer to mine. He tightened his grip on my hair as he closed the gap between our mouths, a long awaited moment finally erupting as fireworks took off in the background at the ball’s decent. My eyes squeezed shut tightly and a moan erupted from my lungs as I held onto his shirt under his blazer for dear life, praying I wasn’t dreaming. He eagerly parted my lips with his own and pushed his tongue past my teeth as I pushed my own tongue back against his in a violently dance for dominance. His hands left my hair so one could hold my neck lovingly and the other could drag itself down my body to the small of my back, then slightly lower, pulling me flush with his body. His fingertips kneaded into the waistband under my dress and he hummed into my mouth when he felt my breath hitch at his touch. When the shouts and celebratory screams had died down was when he finally pulled away from me and we both gasped in a breath of air before opening our eyes.      And when I finally did let my eyes flutter open to be met with his intensity, I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my face. He smiled back nervously, brought his hands up to my face again and searched my eyes. I threw my self forward and kissed him again, and he smiled into me while dipping me backwards, pulling me as close as possible to him.    When we completely pulled apart again I wasn’t lost anymore. I wasn’t broken. I was just falling.

     The Uber ride home was a blur. Neither of us could keep our hands away from each other, making the poor driver extremely uncomfortable. It was a haze of teeth and lips and limbs, and it wasn’t until we were back in his apartment that either one of us even attempted to compose ourselves.    "Wanna drink?“ He asked as his lips were still pressed against mine as he pulled off his blazer. "Yes,” I replied, only pulling away to shrug off my own coat.      He drug me over to the couch and sat me down, leaning over again to plant kiss on my forehead before smiling into my eyes. He pulled his hand out of my hair with a lingering touch that made my stomach warm and my heart flutter.      He sauntered over to the bar cabinet with a new little swagger that I hadn’t noticed before. He grinned at me as he pulled out the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. His eyes only left me briefly as he looked down to pour our drinks.      Once back over at the couch, he handed me my glass while sitting at the other end of the sofa. He pulled my feet into his lap with his free hand and rubbed my ankles.      "So little, how do you walk in these things?“ He chuckled as he wrapped his whole hand around my left ankle and gave it a squeeze. I hummed a small laugh in response.      He removed my shoes from my feet with one swift movement of his hand as he brought his glass to his lips. He began to massage my soles as his eyes danced up my legs and over my frame and back to my face. A smirk appeared as he leaned forward to place his glass on the coffee table.       I eyed him suspiciously as I raised my own glass for a drink, almost finishing it in one gulp as the look in his eyes altered, causing my anxiety to rise from the pit. He leaned over side ways on the couch, rubbing both of his calloused hands up my legs to my thighs. I swallowed again as he lowered his mouth to the the tattooed flesh of my right leg below the hemline of my dress. His eyes never left mine as he leaned up slightly to push one of my legs forward to then pull it behind his back and lean forward again, now settling between my legs. My shaking hands brought the glass to my lips for the final sip before I sat it down to join Jeffrey’s on the table.       One hand instinctively moved to my chest to finger the pendant resting against my cleavage as the other roamed through Jeffrey’s hair, feeling the softness. My breathing caught again as he pushed himself up by my hips, pulling himself up to place his hands on the couch above my shoulders, encasing me with his body. My thighs automatically wrapped themselves around the back of his legs to allow him more room as he rolled his hips forward and kissed me on the mouth again.    "Mmmm, baby, you feel so good,” He groaned after a moment of shifting his body against mine. My mind was so hazy with lust and alcohol that all I could do was whimper and dig my nails into his shoulders. His lips moved from my mouth to my jaw, then down further to my neck, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh with his lips and teeth. My breathing was heavy as my chest heaved against him as he moved his mouth down to the valley between my breasts. He shifted his weight to hold himself up on one arm as the other roamed down to push the neckline of my dress away from my bra so he could have better access. He licked over the flesh pushing against the constricting lace, his scruff rubbing against the sensitive areas and leaving red marks that brought another moan from my lips and made my body shiver. I closed my eyes before they could roll to the back of my head and arched up into him, both hands tugging at his waves as the heat between us pooled and pooled. A low growl reverberated within him as he crashed his lips back to mine and bucked his hips forward again, seizing another whimper from me. 

   "So beautiful…“ he whispered into my neck as my own hips pushed upwards to grind against him.    "Jeff,” I breathed, my anxiety and arousal mixing together to further dampen my ability to speak as we continued to move against each other. He let another deep groan ripple through him and it went straight to my soul as his hand on my side moved lower to grip behind my knee and lift my leg up further onto his hip. He ground down harder, sending another shot of ecstasy through my groin as his hardness pressed and rubbed against me. I couldn’t stop my erratic breathing or shaking hands, even as I pulled him back to my lips by his hair, digging my sharp nails into his scalp.     He pulled away from me and leaned up to kneel between my legs, still letting his hands roam across my hips and thighs. My legs were parted and my dress had only risen up slightly, but he still brought his hands to the hemline to pull it back down further. He exhaled deeply, eyes hungrily taking in my disheveled appearance below him.     “We’ve gotta stop or you’re gonna make me nut my pants.” He chuckled, fingers glancing over my thighs and knees. My hands met his strong thighs and he let me run my palms up them before stopping me when I shakily reached his belt buckle.      "Not tonight, sweetheart.“ He breathed, closing his eyes and removing my hands. He leaned forward to wrap an arm around my waist before rolling back sideways to reposition us to where I was sitting in his lap, straddling him. I leaned forward to capture his lips with mine as my hair fell in our faces. He brought his hand that still held my wrists up to his chest before leaving them there to tangle his fingers back into my wrecked curls.       "You’re so fucking beautiful,” He repeated before a heavy gasp against my open mouth. I licked his upper lip as he drew my bottom one into his teeth and nibbled gently, causing me to grind down on him and moan lightly.       “Fuckkk.” He groaned, raising his hips to meet mine one last time before pulling away and holding my head still in front of his face as his eyes darted back and forth into mine, “How do you do this to me?”        I smiled innocently while searching his irises myself and reaching up to cup his chin, letting my finger tips run through the coarse silver hair. I bit my lip gently before I whispered, “I don’t know.”       He swallowed and licked his lips before speaking again, in a raspy almost-whisper, “I’m not gonna rush this thing with you. I know you’ve been hurt before, and I don’t want to be someone who does it to you again. I don’t know what this is, or what you want it to be. But I know I enjoy spending time with you, enjoy being around you, enjoy touching you,” he squeezed my hips and dug his fingers into the top of my ass, enticing a gasping laugh from me and another deep smile from him before he continued with a husky drawl, “I want you to know that you’re safe with me. That I’m not going to hurt you. That I don’t expect anything from you.” He moved his hand to push a fallen strand of hair behind my ear.       “Thank you, Jeff.” I whispered, trying to fight the emotion that the alcohol and mood threatened to push over my tear ducts.   “Anytime, Sweetheart.” He grinned, and I instantly melted back into his kiss. 

     "I don’t want to go home tomorrow.“ I whined as we lay in his bed the next morning. We weren’t touching, but we were in mirrored positions on our backs, one hand above our heads and the other on our stomachs. "Then don’t go.” He hummed, turning his head to look at me.    "I have to be at work by 8, silly, I got bills.“ I giggled, turning my own head to face him.    He rolled his eyes, "I’ll pay your bills and I’m sure John knows how to order a case of booze and some beer.”    I glared back at him sarcastically, ignoring the first half of his comment, “Yeah, because that’s the only thing I do.” I rolled my eyes, “I swear that man would burn that place to the fucking ground if I weren’t following him around with a fire extinguisher.” I looked back to the ceiling, “Plus, apparently I’m due for a promotion.”    "Oh yeah?“ He rolled over onto his side and propped his head up with his knuckles.    "Yeah, one of the vice managers managers moved to corporate so John’s unfortunately getting to take over his spot as dance manager. I’ll be getting his spot, apparently.”    "Big boss lady in a suit, huh?“ He grinned, poking me in the sides. I giggled and smacked his hand away lightly. "Yeah, I guess so. I never expected it, honestly. Figured I’d be doomed to sling drinks for tips for the rest of my days, but apparently Cliff insisted.” I rolled over towards him as he moved his hand to my hip.    "I’m sure Tom will miss staring at your tits all night.“ He smirked and I slapped his chest, "What? You tease that man too much.”    "Please, he’ll prolly be up my ass more when he sees my tits in a vest.“ I shook my head at the thought and couldn’t contain my laughter.    "I probably will be too.” He wagged his eyebrows up and down as he tightened his grip on my hip.     I scooted over to him to give him a brief kiss before rolling out of the bed to stand up. I started towards the bathroom as I felt his hand come down with a soft 'smack’ on my cotton-short-clad ass. I gasped and spun back around to him looking away innocently. “What?” he grinned, returning his eyes to me, “I couldn’t help myself.”

    We spent the morning lounging around his apartment drinking coffee and watching TV. I busted out in a fit of laughter when I was flipping through channels while he was in the bathroom and came across the  tail end of the second season premiere of Supernatural. When he came back into the room I had tears rolling down my face and was clutching my sides. “What’s so funny, little girl?” He grinned, confused.     I turned the volume on the television up and spoke John Winchester’s line at the same time as the TV, feigning the emotion that he had in the scene, “I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.” I looked up at him with watery eyes and reached for his hand. He instantly erupted in his own laughter as he plopped himself on the sofa beside me and stole the remote. “Enough of that, now.” He shook his head and flipped the channel.    "You’re no fun.“ I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest as he tried to pull me into his side.    "Pffft, I’m a riot.” he retorted, throwing his arm over my shoulder as I snuggled into his ribs.    "Whatever, old man. Whatever you say.“ I poked his ribs and he jerked away from me.    "Yeah, whatever I say goes.” He growled, bring his hand around my shoulder down to lightly smack me on the ass again. “Yes sir” I rolled my eyes sarcastically. He growled as he narrowed his eyes, “Don’t start that, Missy.” “Start what, Mr. J?” I smiled coyly, earning me another low grumble from him. “Lunchtime?” He asked as he heard the unmistakable rumble of my belly. “Always.”

   Lunch was prepared by Chef Jeffrey Dean Morgan himself, and consisted of grilled chicken, garlic pasta, and mixed vegetables. My eyes rolled into the back of my head at the first bite.    "Stick with me girl, we’ll get you thick in no time.“ He chuckled beside me at the table, poking at my stomach.    "Please, I’ve attempted the whole 'gains’ thing with Jared, didn’t work. I gotta fucked up thyroid.” I shoveled more food in my mouth as he continued to giggle.       Once I scarfed down the rest of my food I was back on the couch shifting through channels. Jeffrey was rinsing off the dishes in the kitchen when the doorbell rang, “Can you get that for me, sweet-pea?” he shouted to me.      Anxiety instantly trembled through me, remembering the last time I’d answered the door to a home that wasn’t mine,  "I’d rather not…“      Jeff appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, dishrag in his hand,  and gave me a sympathetic look, repeating his previous words again, "You’re safe here, honey,” before heading towards the front door. “Who is it?” He hollered, wiping his hands with the towel while looking through the peep hole. 

     "Little pig, little pig! Let. Me. In!“ came from the other side of the door before the door bell rang again in short sporadic increments. 

   Jeffrey barked out a loud laugh as he pulled the door open and in marched Norman, two bottles of what I could only assume was liquor in his hands.      "Who’s up for some fucking day drinking?- Oh hey, Ms. Ackles, I didn’t know you’d be here.” Norman lifted on of the bottles in salutation to me.      "Hey, Norman" I said, feeling my nervousness shift away. ’No one can get me here.’ “How’re you doin’, girl?” He said as I stood up to give him a hug.      "Good, you?“ I responded as I watched him pull the bottles out of their paper bags.      "Better now! Came to get day drunk with my buddy and he’s got a hot girl here too? Winner Winner.” He laughed.      "She’s been here all weekend, douche bag, you’ve known this.“ Jeffrey joined us at the table with three glasses, shaking his head.     "Yeah, but I figured I’d give y'all a little alone time, if you know what I mean” Norman wiggled his eyebrows at the both of us as he popped open the bottle of Crown, “M’ Lady?” He held the bottle up to me as a question. “It’s 12:30 in the afternoon, Norman.” I giggled and shook my head.      "A double she says!“ he barked out in an Irish accent as he poured a healthy glass before sliding it towards me. I shook my head again as I picked up the tumbler.      "Happy fucking New Year!” Norman shouted as he pushed a drink into Jeff’s hand and raised his own in the air, a little bit splashing on the table.      "Watch the mahogany, dick.“ Jeff jabbed before tossing his glass back and finishing it in two huge gulps.      I lifted my own glass and took a sip, and Norman and Jeff both stared at me like I had an arrow sticking from my head. "What?�� I asked, confused as hell. “I thought you were a professional drinker?” Norman teased.      "Norman…“ a halfhearted growl came from Jeff, I just quirked my eyebrow.      "Okay, then.” I shook my head once more as I tilted my head back and downed all the amber liquid in my glass in one gulp, not even cringing at the burn. Both the men’s eyes went wide. “Professional drinker” I pointed out as I exhaled the taste.      "I like 'er, Jeff. Let’s keep her around.“ Norman beamed as he threw his arms over both mine and Jeff’s shoulders, pulling us in towards him.      "Y'all have no idea what ya’ll’re getting yourselves into” I chuckled back, alcohol already bringing the twang out in my voice.      "You know what they say 'bout them Texas girls, boy…wooo-weee" Norman poured us all another double.     “That’ we’re all emotionally unstable, bat shit crazy bitches with drinking problems?” I asked, barking out my own laugh as I raised the second glass to my mouth. Norman and Jeff both looked at me with shocked expressions, “What? It’s the fucking truth?” I took a deep swallow of the liquid. “I think I can handle it” Jeff grinned, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me near him as he downed his whiskey.

By 5 o'clock we had finished the first bottle and were all pretty intoxicated.      "You comin’ to the next convention with us, honey?“ Norman asked as he wedged his way between Jeff and I on the sofa.      "There’s a perfectly good chair right there man” Jeffrey grumbled, motioning to the arm chair with his glass.      "This spot is better. Anyways, darlin’, so, you gonna come see us?“ He asked again. "I have this thing called a job…” I laughed, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey I had cut with a coke I found in the fridge. “And?” Norman deadpanned. “And I need to work. What is with ya’ll?” I shook my head.      "You know Jeff here will make sure your bills get paid,“ Norman stated, nodding his head towards the other man who just gave me a 'well, I would’ face. I rolled my eyes, "I’m not a sugar baby.” “Never said you were.” It was Jeff who replied.      I narrowed my eyes at both of them before getting off the couch to pour me a stiffer drink. 

    The night wore on, and by the 10 o'clock  the second bottle was halfway done, I was laying on the couch drifting in and out of sleep as Norman and Jeffrey talked in the dining room.      "Man, she’s something else,“ Norman chuckled lowly, eyeing my tiny frame snoring softly on the sofa.      "I think this is the first time I’ve actually outdrank her.” Jeff rasped jokingly as he brought his glass to his lips to take a sip. “Everything going alright?” Norman asked with a sideways glance.      "Yeah, brother, everything is great so far. I feel like a 14 year old kid, though.“ Jeffrey sighed as he placed his glass on the table, "I don’t wanna do anything to trigger her, ya know?” “I get it man, but you’re not like that anyway.”      "Obviously, but I’ve seen how that shit can affect someone. The first time I tried to touch her after that piece of shit got to her at Jensens’, damn, man…she was so broken" He trailed off, blinking away the emotions of the memory. “Well that’s why she needs you to help fix her, dude. duh” “I just don’t wanna push the poor girl into feeling like she says she did with that asshole.” “Then don’t.” Norman said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jeffrey simply nodded his head and turned to stare at me.

     The next morning I was at the airport, sporting my baggy sweat pants, a tank top with my unzipped Heartagram hoodie, and one of Jeffrey’s beanies I’d stolen. My hangover was in full affect, and I felt like I was going to die from a headache at any moment.      "Whyyyyyy?“ I whined, stomping my foot as I leaned my head into Jeffrey’s sternum, waiting on my bags to be checked.       "It’ll be alright, sweetpea, just have a drink on the plane and get some sleep.” He curled his long arms around my shoulders and kissed the top of my beanie-clad head. “Just what I need, more booze” I grumbled as my stomach turned.      Once my bag was checked and the plane was ready for boarding, Jeffrey engulfed me into his arms and leaned down to smother me in a passionate kiss. His tounge danced around with mine, exploring my mouth with urgency as he tangled a hand in my hair. I couldnt stop the tears from springing to my eyes as his other hand gripped my hip and pulled me as close as I could be to him.      "Shh, baby doll, its okay. Dont cry.“ He whispered as he wiped the few stray tears away from my cheeks. "I can’t help it, I’m such a fucking pussy.” I laughed, shaking my head against his chest. “Then what the hell am I?” He looked down at me, his own watery eyes about to spill over. “A bigger pussy,” I sniffled before giving him the last kiss I could before god knows how long.

part six:  https://hornsbeforehalos.tumblr.com/post/163863683399/anytime-sweetheart-part-6

[creatingthewritelife]

Cultivating Community

I think to some degree or another we all have the image of a writer as some lonely figure sitting in a dimly lit room with their typewriter or their fountain pen and a glass of whiskey. Maybe a cigarette. It’s a strange aesthetic for writers to attach themselves to considering that so much of what we do relies on other people. Most likely it stems from the times long before the internet when forming connections with other writers was likely a significantly more challenging feat, and made popular by well known authors such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway. Whether you love them or hate them they’ve had an impact on the type of image writer’s often see for themselves.

On top of which we’ve been supplied with quotes from well-known writers about what a lonely, solitary, life it is being a writer, and as so much of writing is done alone in solitude, especially in the early stages when it’s just you and the page as everyone and everything else becomes background noise it can be easy to fall into the trap of believing that creative work has to be a lonely endeavor. But as writers so much of our work revolves around other people; from beta readers, to editors, agents, publishers, to our final intended audience and then some. Part of what we do involves exploring the depths of humanity, whether we’re writing human characters or not our perspective will always be human. Which means we’re constantly working - consciously or not - to understand. We people-watch, spend our free time with friends, watch movies, listen to music, watch or read the news, and all of it contributes to our understanding of people, but there’s only so much that can be learned from our own perspective. Which is why it’s important to establish a connection with other writers. Why it’s important to find community.

There are dozens of reasons to find your place in a community of writers. They can help you to improve your writing in ways you might not even realize, and you can do the same for them. It gives you the opportunity to learn what’s being done by other writers, in other genres, allows you to hear other perspectives and observations, thoughts on what troupes are are being overused or underused, thoughts on harmful stereotypes or descriptions. That’s all with only barely pausing to consider the many life experiences outside of writing - not every writer is only a writer, some work in different fields with indepth knowledge that they’re happy to share so that other people can write better too. A community of writers is an opportunity to learn, and to help others. Those types of opportunities are some of the most important we may ever receive, and we should take advantage of them

Writing help alone isn’t all that these communities are good for. Writing communities are full of people who understand. Whether you’re a young writer who’s still in school, a single parent with multiple jobs, a full time student paying off debts, married with kids and a house in the suburbs, unemployed and struggling to get your life together, there’s always going to be someone in one writing community or another who can understand your struggle through sympathy, empathy, or having been there or being there themselves. Writing is hard. Living a creative life is hard. No matter your circumstance, your mental state, your physical ability, it’s hard work and a hard life. And it’s one that’s often looked down on by people who aren’t living it and can’t understand because of that. Having people to talk to about writing itself, and life as a writer is essential. It gives us a place to turn when we feel like we’re drowning in our work, our lives, and the opinions of other people.

If friendships and learning aren’t convincing enough there’s always the chance that becoming a part of these communities can help you to establish yourself as a writer. Self marketing. They can be a place to share your work, talk technical, discuss tropes, cliches, and diversity, share your thoughts and opinions, as well as a place to give and receive feedback. Writing communities, if nothing else, can serve as another excellent tool to help build your craft and your presence as a writer. Though building that sort of a presence will always be easier if you keep yourself open to the possibility of making friends as well, support leads to support, and kindness to kindness. A creative life is easier to manage when you have people to walk beside you.

That includes any creative life, actually, and other creative communities. Art wasn’t originally a singular endeavour. It was The Arts, and it included everything; writing, music, sculpting, painting, performance and so much more. A writing community is a wonderful place to be, to feel at home and understood, but so much can be learned from contact with creatives in other fields whether you dabble in those art forms or not. Joining book communities can be a fantastic way to stay close to home while learning about what potential readers - who might not be writers - are interested in reading about, the things they liked, the ways they’d like to see the industry evolve and improve. Artist communities are wonderful for learning about ways to describe characters and settings, they’re a perfect place to draw inspiration from or even talk about potential collaborations with. Photography communities are a wealth of realism and magic, the visual imagination to the words we write. Music communities and lyricists might have insight on how to fill your worths with rhythm and feeling and how to make them flow in a way you had scarcely imagined before. Poets; well they’re poets for a reason aren't they? With how they spin webs laced with metaphor and meaning something is bound to stick.

Artists complement other artists. We often have both such similar and different views on everything. We take on the world in unique ways while managing to understand each other and with so many ways to express anything and everything through visual, literary, performance, auditory arts and more we’re offered constant opportunities to learn. By taking an interest in how people who are invested in artforms other that our own we can better improve our understanding of humanity and improve our own art. Humans are social creatures, and art is a human-based experience. Through community with creatives and artists of all types we have the larges opportunity to thrive.

How do we do it though? How do we find these communities and get involved? Where do we look? Everywhere. We look everywhere. We live in a period of time where the internet thrives as a hub of information and communities. The world, both off- and online, is a treasure trove of communities that are often more than willing to welcome new people into the fold. Social media is a magical resource for communities, and each one will have its own personality combined of every individual who participates, there’s guaranteed to be a place for you somewhere. There are so many options that I’d never be able to list them all. I’ve personally had the most success with the writing community here on Tumblr using the tags #writeblr or #writelr as well as the community of book-lovers here who often use the tag #booklr. Twitter has a great community of readers which isn’t hard to find and a writing community that often posts with the tag #amwriting. Everywhere is worth checking though - The Nanowrimo website is a great place to connect, especially during the month of madness, Facebook surely has writing groups worth checking out, and Instagram is a perfect chance to combine any interest with photography while finding others who share those interests. Every social media platform is likely to have a community or two worth exploring. And offline? Schools, libraries, and community centers are perfect places to find information on meetups. Maybe even ask around at your church or local coffee shop.

Most importantly; don’t be afraid to dive right in. Once you’ve found a community that you think you might be comfortable in start talking and posting, ask questions, give feedback. Express yourself and share your thoughts and opinions on different subjects, answer questions when you have an answer. My anxiety made it hard for me to start to join the conversations over and over again. Sometimes it still does. What if I say something wrong? What if someone disagrees with me? What if I sound stupid or accidentally offend someone? Thoughts like those held me back for a long time at first, but as I began to open up and reach out I found it easier and easier to relax because more often than not the people in these communities were kind, and helpful, and welcoming. Other times I stumbled and felt awkward or embarrassed and uncomfortable. Mistakes were made, but they were also overcome. My place in these communities, with the friends I’ve made so far and the ones I have yet to make, is a reminder to my anxiety that sometimes I get to be the one who wins. As my connection to these people grows every mistake I’ve made so far feels a little more worthwhile. Every mistake you make along the way will be worthwhile as you start to get somewhere. Beginnings are scary, whether they’re a new adventure or a new conversation with a stranger, but in all our favourite books where the protagonist takes up their adventure - whatever it may be - it always includes some wonderful people along the way.

We’re long past the days of dark and dreary writer aesthetics seeping into our reality. In order to understand, grow, and contribute to improvement, we need to be willing to connect and communicate with other people. We have to listen and hear the thoughts of others, share our own, and decide that growth - in ourselves, our communities, our cultures, our crafts, our world - is worthwhile. Humanity is not a solitary existence and a craft hell bent on exploring it like writing shouldn’t be either. Like this post? Want to see more? Consider becoming a Patron!

[rockerrick-555p]

Disillusion (3)

{Another step on the path to their Time Apart, Disillusion finds Rocker confused and conflicted, but desperately trying to move through this. At this point he’d found intimacy with Evil Rick difficult as he couldn’t stop thinking about Rick also being intimate with Bill. Yet another heavy discussion about the state of things ends with Rocker lowering this self constructed wall and the pair spend the evening rediscovering their need for each other}

Rocker was filled with sorrow and desperate need for his Rick after leaving the bar. He felt he’d cheated his own heart, damaging it further and adding a horrendous layer of guilt on top of all the shit he was already feeling. It wasn’t about getting back at Evil Rick for what he’d done, what did it matter if he managed to make the man feel as miserable as he did? It wouldn’t change anything..

As much as he wanted to rush back to the lair and into the old man’s arms, his feet seemed to refuse to take him there and he wandered aimlessly for a while before ending up back at his penthouse for some reason. It still hadn’t been gleaned, broken glass and bottles were strewn about, his machete still rested in the hallway mirror. He sighed as he stood there in the empty house, he didn’t want to be here, he wanted to go home. But he was starting to think he’d lost his sense of home forever.

Regardless of how he felt about his heartache, the guilt was swimming in the forefront of his mind. He knew he needed to go back and clear his conscious and tell Evil Rick what happened, but he was incredibly nervous to do so. Not because he thought the old man would get angry and attack him.. the exact opposite in fact. What if Rick didn’t care at all?

He sighed heavily and dialed in the coordinates of the lair before shooting open a portal and stepping through into Rick’s lab. The sight of the old man bent over his workstation in the pristine white room looked exactly as it always did, which just made him feel so miserable. Like how can the world continue spinning just the same when he’d lost so much? Urghh god, why did everything have to make him feel worse. When were things going to start getting better?

He cleared his throat to announce his presence, not that it was really needed and awkwardly rubbed his arm. Christ why did he feel like he’d forgotten how to talk to this man? Everything was so fucked. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, deciding to just come straight out with it and get it all over with. “R-rick? Uh.. S-sigma..” he sighed heavily, attempting to brace for the worst “S-sigma kissed me.”

=============================================================

After briefing meeting with Bill, Evil Rick had portalled home only to discover the kid wasn’t there at all. He’d aimlessly padded around for a bit before inevitably his curiosity got the better of him and he checked his tracking system to identify the boy’s location. The console display showed that Rick was in a bar, one of his regular haunts it seemed, but he wasn’t alone; he was with Sigma. The device Evil Rick had implanted in Sigma’s head, while meant for control was also something which could be used to track his alternative’s movements, not for any particular reason, Evil Rick simply liked to know where everyone was at all times. Christ, he’d only installed the thing as a fail safe to be used if Sigma became too much trouble, sometimes he forgot it was there at all. He cursed himself that neither of the devices had audio feedback. Still, it wasn’t hard to work out what the two of them would be taking about; they’d probably spent the evening trading insults about him…..and Bill.

After discovering he had little appetite, he made something small to eat, grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey and a new pack of smokes then headed to his lab. Sitting down at his desk he eased a cigarette between his lips, lit it and studied his most recent set of schematics. Slipping on his glasses he grabbed a screwdriver and got to work, he always threw himself into his work when he was troubled.

An hour or so later he heard the sound of the boy’s leather boots crossing the floor tiles towards him, Rocker’s arrival signalled with a small cough, the sound enough to tell the old man the kid wanted to say something.

As he turned in his seat, he slid his glasses down his nose and studied the boy over them. His expression told him everything he needed to know before Rick had even had the chance to open his mouth. The kid had done something he regretted, it was obvious.

“Oh he did, did he?” The reply was cold but calm with an edge of bitter sarcasm. “…and just how was that then?”

=============================================================

God, even the smallest things felt like icy stabs. When Rick moved his glasses Rocker noticed the small marks he loved to kiss, a sure sign the old man had been working too long and it was time for him to come play with the musician. Only they hadn’t done that in ages, well really it’d only been a few days, but to Rocker it felt like an eternity. Fuck he missed Rick’s touch.

“Awful..” he answered, stopping a few paces away from the old man “I stopped it as soon as it started.”

=============================================================

With a sigh the old man slipped his glasses off, carefully folding them before laying them down on his desk. Quite honestly he didn’t know how to feel, only a few days ago, he’d have reacted entirely differently to such news, violently in fact but right now, in this moment, it was difficult to justify that impulse because truthfully he had no right to react at all. He’d bound his own damn hands, how could he possibly say anything without motivating the boy to move further from him. It had occurred to him that the kid was so well isolated that he might reach out to others for comfort, perhaps more than comfort, but he’d never dreamed it would be with Sigma. Dreamed? No, it was a fucking nightmare, the old man had enough reasons to resent that particular Rick, he didn’t need anymore.

He found it hard to meet Rick’s eye, he felt like the kid looked at him entirely differently now and he was unable to tell if that was the truth or merely the skewed interpretation of his own paranoid mind. Those bright blue eyes had always been filled with adoration, respect and reverence, now they simply looked stained with regret, disillusion and disappointment.

“Why?”

=============================================================

The old man seemed impossible to read.. another pang of pain, he once could read his beloved so well. Beloved? Was he? Hell he didn’t know anything anymore. But Rick definitely wasn’t lashing out, any other time and the musician would have been smacked across the face before he’d even gotten the sentence out. Rocker didn’t know if the distinct lack of a reaction was a good thing or not, but in his gut he didn’t like it.

He looked up from his feet when Rick spoke, but only to find the hazel gaze he lived for avoiding him, refusing to lock with his for more than a few seconds. I bet he’s been staring directly into Bill’s eyes, he thought bitterly.

Why? Such a simple question with a complex answer, though he wasn’t sure which of his statements the old man was questioning. He tackled the easier of the two first “Because I hated it, I didn’t want to be kissing him so I stopped..” because it felt like a betrayal he finished in his head, refusing to admit such a thing out loud in light of what Rick had done.

He took half a step forward but stopped himself and remained where he was, still unsure if Evil Rick was about to lash out at him or not. “I hated it because he.. “ miserable heartbroken eyes searched Ricks face before staring directly at him “because he’s not you.. you, you’re the only person I..” He couldn’t finish the statement and looked away back at his boots again. It was so stupid to still feel this way when he was no longer enough, when the man he loved with his entirety only loved him back partially.

=============================================================

He watched Rick begin an approach and then falter back. It had been like this for a couple of days now, as if there was some physical barrier between them that the kid simply couldn’t cross, didn’t want to cross? He didn’t know.  

Their lack of physical intimacy was the most disturbing thing, especially given their usual fevered frequency, it wasn’t even about the sex, just uncomplicated closeness would be enough right now but he refused to force himself upon the boy, he had to wait for Rick to come to him. It wasn’t easy, he the old man wasn’t used to having to wait for anything and usually just took what he wanted.

Hearing Rick practically tell him he was the only person he wanted to kiss made Evil Rick’s stomach swell with the sickly sensation of thick, heavy guilt. The statement should have been a compliment, something to enjoy but instead what he had done with Bill had rendered it as sharp and damaging as the pierce of a blade. He couldn’t say the same and surely the kid knew it, he felt like he was being punished, the realisation that he could not return the statement physically hurt and worst of all he was explicitly aware he deserved that pain, that and more.

Raising his head he looked at Rick who was now staring down at the floor.

“You feel differently about me now, don’t you?” The words were both accusatory and self-deprecating, sent out to pick at the boy’s threads and try and unravel him, he wanted to halt the pretense and get the the bottom of what Rick was feeling. He had no right of course, he’d lost the right to demand answers from Rick, but still he couldn’t help but question him.

=============================================================

He hated this distance, it only accented the ache in his chest and he was desperate to close the gap and wrap his arms around Rick, but whenever he thought about it he saw the old man in Bills arms and couldn’t stomach it. He didn’t know why, it’s not like it was that long ago Evil Rick was shoving his dick in all sorts of things. Fuck he landed at the rock stars feel covered in an alternatives filth once and he hardly cared.. why was it so different now.

As if reading his thoughts, Rick asked him just that. He screwed up his face with hesitation not wanting to admit it to himself, much less Rick. He looked up from his shoes and caught the old man’s gaze properly “I..” he swallowed, his mouth was so dry “I don’t want to..” he rubbed the back of his neck and stepped forward putting his other arm out to the side in a half shrug “I can’t .. everything just hurts R-rick..” his voice broke along with the fragile walls he’d been holding himself together with, his eyes filled and he put a hand over his face “It all hurts so much.”

=============================================================

“I know you don’t.” He replied softly, his voice raw from the realization that it was actually true and not simply his paranoia.

The kid was suffering, it was obvious, from the way his body hung limp and loose to the way his voice cracked every time he dared himself to speak. The old man wanted to hold him and assure him everything would be okay, even if Rick didn’t believe a word of it. He hadn’t reached for Rick because he didn’t want to be rejected, to feel him recoil from him now would make him feel even more wretched. He was trying to handle this maturely, putting Rick first, it was an unnatural instinct and he wasn’t coping well with it at all. It left him stranded and unsure of himself, perhaps that was the problem, perhaps he was being too careful and cautious.

He didn’t want Rick to think he was pretending everything was fine, like he was ignoring the boy’s feelings, dismissing them as insignificant, but that wasn’t a reason not to hold him.

Standing up from the desk he crossed the divide and pulled Rick into him, hard, so hard that if the kid tried to pull away from him now he’d find he couldn’t, admittedly it was more of a constriction than an embrace.

“I never thought I could hurt you like this…” He whispered into the kid’s ear, his fingers gripping Rick’s arms. “….especially you…I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.”

=============================================================

They had barely touched each other in days, Rocker had only managed a few small forehead kisses when the old man was asleep in their bed and the moment looked peaceful.. like before. It wasn’t so much that he was avoiding it, he just found himself physically unable to initiate it and, he only now realized, he initiated a great deal of their intimacy. Always being the one to portal into the lab just for a kiss, or sit on the floor by the old man’s chair just for the odd fingers in his hair as Rick worked.

The past few days had been a barren void of any affection, not without good reason, but it was a toxic force that seemed to keep growing. The longer it had been since he’d reached for Evil Rick the harder it seemed to be to do so. He had this weird sense of being cold all the time with the withdrawal of the old man’s touch.

He heard Rick get up, but didn’t bother to lower his hand, he didn’t want the old man to see the level of hurt in his eyes. He hated that he wasn’t stronger than this, just another thing in the pile of ways he’d turned out to be a disappointment to his love and mentor. So when he suddenly felt the strong calloused hands close around him and yank him forward it caught him by such surprise he could do nothing but act instinctually.

His body folded into Rick’s willingly, body going soft as he curled into the old man’s chest and buried his face there. When Rick’s scent filled his nostrils he couldn’t hold it back anymore and the tears silently started streaming down his cheeks onto the old man’s black shirt. He tucked in arms into his chest trying to encourage Rick to wrap his around him, not because he didn’t want to hug his favourite back, but because he wanted, no needed to be held. Wrapped up tight in his old man again where he belonged.

“I didn’t either..” he admitted softly “I mean you have, before.. but not like this, never like this.” He rubbed his eyes into Ricks shirt and lifted his head to look up at him “Why is Bill more important than me? Wh-what.. “ he swallowed “what did I do wrong to make you need him too?” He closed his eyes finishing the thought in his head …why am I not enough?”

=============================================================

Once it was clear to him the kid wasn’t rejecting his touch, he loosened his arms, one hand shifting up to settle on the back of the boy’s head softly combing his hair as he eased it down to rest against his chest. He could feel Rick’s silent tears soaking into his shirt; the feeling of that wetness made his heart ache; he’d hurt Rick before, but never like this, he felt like a monster.

The question came and he wasn’t prepared for it, nor was he prepared for the broken, devastated look in Rick’s eyes. His natural instinct was to pull away from the boy, to hide but this was not time to be avoiding painful truths, he owned Rick more than that.

“It’s not a matter of importance.” He confirmed softly, still holding Rick but all too aware the kid might propel him away at any moment. “…and you didn’t, Christ, you didn’t do anything Rick, it’s not…it’s not about you.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he realized they could be taken entirely the wrong way, he’d been trying to tell the kid that there was no failure to acknowledge, no problem to correct, Rick was as perfect to him now as he had been the day he had moved in. With a look of apology he quickly tried to add further context. “Jesus, no wait, I don’t…I mean…” He sighed heavily…”I’ve chased him my whole damn life kid, I was a fool for thinking I could ever stop.”

=============================================================

He’d never felt anything as comforting in his life as Rick’s fingers in his hair, a sensation he had started to believe he was going to have to live without. Once his arms were released he slipped them down and with only a small hesitation, wrapped them around the old man. Lightly at first, he slowly increased pressure until he was squeezing him quite tightly.

Rick’s original statement made him wince, it hurt.. but thankfully the old man had elaborated before he had a chance to dwell on it too much. He took a deep, but shaky breath preparing to expel another agonizing thought that had been festering in his head. “How can I compete with that? You’re just going to forget about me.. the two of you have so much together already..” …one day you’re going to leave and never come back.

He sniffled and put his head back down, squeezing tighter still “I don’t want to share you.. I want you to be mine as I am yours..” his tone shifted slightly, anger creeping in with the tears “I hate him.”

=============================================================

The boy was squeezing hard and forced a cough from the old man as he adjusted position to breathe a little better. He couldn’t understand why Rocker was acting like he was slipping away, he wasn’t leaving him for Bill, he still wanted to continue their marriage, continue living together, continue sharing a bed, continue sharing a life goddammit.

“Compete? Why does everything have to be a damn competition?” He hadn’t wanted to sound annoyed but since he didn’t share Rick’s perspective he found it hard to adopt it. “How could I forget you, you live with me…we live together, we’re married for Christ sake, I’m not going anywhere, this lair is as much yours as it is mine, look Kid…”

I don’t want to share you.

Now that was a perspective he could understand and much to his dismay he didn’t have a come back to it. His arms fell to his side as a heavy sadness enveloped him, making him begin to feel numb. The last few days had taken their toll, he was an expert at concealing his feelings but a consistent failure when it came to dealing with them.

“You’re right.” He said softly, trying his best not to turn away. “You deserve better, I’m so sorry I can’t give it to you.” His shoulders sunk as he looked at the floor. “You’re entitled to hate him.” He sighed, his voice cracking with emotion. “You’re entitled to hate me too.”

=============================================================

At any other time he’d have give Rick such a look, the old man knew damned well why everything was a competition being the cause for most of it himself. Jesus Christ he couldn’t even top without wrestling for it, their entire relationship was built on it, competition was in their blood.

He didn’t want the lair, he wanted Rick. All of Rick, as it had been for the last few months.. but had it been? Really? Back in Rick’s arms at last he was just calm enough to think, really think, not just emotional responses and nagging self doubt. Rick was trying to tell him he’d always felt this way towards Bill, they’d just never acted out on it because of him and Sigma. So he’d never been the only one in the old man’s heart to begin with.. what he was afraid of was it getting stronger now that they would be living it and it would overpower and destroy what Rick had with Rocker.

But that could be ages away, and in that time wouldn’t their love grow as well. Maybe he could keep Rick happy enough that it never happened.. and if it did, would he give up all the days from this one to that on the chance? He’d never been a gambling man, he made his own luck, chose his own path set his own destiny. He’d clawed his way up to this man’s side, there was no way he was leaving it now.. even if there was another man on his other side.. he wasn’t letting Bill have all of him.

But that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt like hell.

“I don’t hate you.. ” he responded immediately, voice the strongest it had been in days, he lifted his head again to try and look Rick in the eyes “Don’t you get it? I could never, will never hate you. I’d never abandon you, I’d never leave your side or chose someone else over you.. no matter what you did to me. Ever.. because I love you..”

He sighed and shifted, releasing his grip to rub his face but not moving away “Even if you cast me out, I’d always be yours. I don’t want this Rick, if I’d been given any choice I would not chose half of a husband, half a marriage. But I don’t have a say do I? I take you with Bill or I leave you. Those are my options.”

=============================================================

They were the sweetest words anyone had ever spoken to him and he didn’t deserve a fraction of their sentiment. To hear the kid’s devotion spelled out so simply, so strongly, made him realize just how terribly he’d taken it for granted. The realization only made him feel worse, worried that over time, the kid would come to feel differently, that through his own selfishness he might not lose Rick but he would lose the kid’s unyielding, unshakable commitment to him. The idea that one day Rick would turn around and deny that intimate fidelity terrified him, he knew exactly what that felt like, he’d been through it with Bill and it had broken him.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted.” He pulled the boy to him, clasping his face, a new seriousness in his expression, clearly showing the kid had rattled him. This boy, this boy moulded in his own image, raised up, made deadly and cunning, formidable and glorious, trained, taught and transformed. Even in Rick’s weakest moments he still showed infallible strength.

“God, you never cease to surprise me.” He whispered, softly rocking the boy in his arms, his mouth moving to rest near the boy’s ear. “I can feed the caterpillar, I can whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me.”

He lowered his head to capture the boy’s gaze, “I love you more than I ever have and I promise whatever happens, I will never ever leave you.”

=============================================================

He softened at the hands on his face, he’d gone too long without Rick’s tender touch, too long without the soothing comfort of his skin against his. He slipped his arms back around Rick’s waist like he’d done countless times, gripping the back of his shirt with his fingers. He was acutely aware of every part of his body that was back in contact with his favourite and leaned into it, soaking it back up to quench his parched soul.

Rocker closed his eyes and rested his head against Rick’s as he whispered in his ear, the words warming him further. That’s right. HE was Rick’s creation, He and he alone had been meticulously designed by Evil Rick. That was something no one else, including Bill, could claim. He remained Evil Rocker Rick, burdened with glorious purpose crafted by this man. Nothing would change that.

He smirked at the old man when he met his gaze again, some of his confident self starting to show again. This time Rick’s sentiment felt right, sounded right, unlike the guilt filled one back at the penthouse. This was full of the commanding conviction he was accustomed to hearing. It was like Evil Rick had been wearing a veil, had been overcast by his own self torment and hidden from the musician, but now it had been cast off and once again his beloved stood before him.

Tears of a much different sort filled his eyes as he looked at him, his breath hitched and he shot forward to claim Rick’s mouth in a passionate demanding kiss. As he moved his lips to let his tongue find Rick’s he felt so much of his stress and pain washing away. He wasn’t a fool, he didn’t expect that the feelings wouldn’t come back, they were in uncharted waters, it was going to be a learning curve for them both.. but for now those worries needed to take a back seat. For now he needed to feel only his Evil Rick.

He broke apart with a gasp, only then realizing how desperately he’d been clawing at the old man’s shirt as if trying to devour him whole. Resting his forehead against his favourite’s he smiled “I’ve missed you old man.”

=============================================================

He felt the character of the embrace change, it was softer, less tense and more intimate and in so being, it soothed him and his worry. Up until this point any physical contact had been either accidental or felt forced, it was one of the reasons he’d decided abstinence was better, every touch prior to this had only reminded him that he’d violated Rick’s trust.

Even the kid’s expression had changed, it was hopeful, no, not just hopeful, there was pride in those eyes, pride that could only come from the kid reconnecting with his purpose. He was not just Evil Rick’s husband, he was his replacement, one in a succession of Ricks that spanned back through time and would one day see Rocker take his own apprentice some day. He made no mention of it of course, mentions of his inevitable death were always met with fervent denial from the boy as if the old man might somehow live forever.

This kiss was entirely unexpected by the minute he got the faintest taste of it he claimed it, matching Rick’s demand, outmatching it, as he backed the boy toward his desk. When it finally broke he gripped the kid’s hips and lifted him to sit on the edge of his workstation, slipping himself between the boys legs so he could hold him tightly.

“Mmmm….I’ve missed you too.” The words were a deep hum that rumbled in his chest as he continued to hold the boy close, he could still taste him on his tongue; he wanted more.

=============================================================

Rocker nearly stumbled by the force in which Rick drove him backwards, the hard wood of the desk slamming into the backs of his legs before he was swiftly lifted up onto it. Hearing the deep rolling hum in the old man’s chest he pulled Rick’s face back at his, this time the kiss being more teeth than lips. His body taking over and determined to make up from its recent withdrawals.

He hooked his legs around Rick’s waist and crossed his ankles behind the old man, squeezing him further into him as he pulled his head back from the second kiss with a low growl. “Fuck.. Rick..” he kissed along his favourites jaw, bit his ear then down his throat and pulled back up. Clawing at the material of Rick’s shirt, he roughly tugged it up over the old man’s head before ditching his own and crashing their bodies straight back together. Kissing his beloved like a man starved, which considering what a sex addict he was and how long it had been, he very much was.

As he kissed his favourite his hands started tugging at Rick’s belt, ripping it open and wasting not a second before shoving his hand straight in and palming at the old man’s cock as he rose up, using his legs to pull their torsos flush together and rutting his body against Rick’s. His movements were frantic and urgent, like his life depended on it. He violently arched back when he realized he desperately needed to take a breath, gasping a loud deep moan in the room.  Bringing his face back forward, he rubbed his cheek against Rick’s in a nuzzling way before pulling the man’s head towards his neck to encourage the old man to sink his teeth into him. “Ahh fuck.. Rick, take me .. please” he pleaded “Re-claim me as yours.. now, right now Rick..”

=============================================================

It was the longest they had gone without each other since the kid had moved into the lair and by God could he tell. The scent of him, the taste of him, the feel of his skin, the tickle of his hair, all of these things he’d missed but they were nothing compared to the pleasing feeling of wrapping his large hands around the boy’s angular hips and hearing him swear desperately into his ear.

As Rick pulled at his belt he pushed the boy flat against the desk, wrestling off the kid’s tight pants and throwing them over his shoulder, before gripping those skinny hips once again and wrenching Rick forward nearly taking the desk with him. One hand slipped to finish unbuttoning his own trousers so he could slam the rest of his clothes down to the floor and kick them away. Scooping up Rick’s head he brought the boy up again to meet him, pressing the warmth of his newly naked body up against his own.

All of his apologetic guilt was gone, consumed by desire and purged by lust. His relief lingered in the background but was quickly overcome by his demand to fuck. “Re-claim you?” He teasingly growled in Rick’s ear as he worked his hands between his legs, pausing briefly to spit into his palm before thrusting two fingers straight inside the boy without any warning.

“You were always mine.” The words were growled, filled with arrogance and greed, spoken with utter authority as he twisted his slick digits inside the kid. “Mmm….let me show you why.”

They had days worth of absence to make up for, and Evil Rick had a point to prove, it looked very unlikely were going to sleep at all tonight.

[vengxfallen]

Tag Dump - 1/?

🔥 Ride to Live - Live to Ride { AESTHETIC }

🔥 Whiskey Bent and Hell-Bound { APPEARANCE }

🔥 Where’s the Devil When You Need Him? { ASK }

🔥 Out of the Frying Pan { COMIC }

🔥 Jesus Built My Hot Rod { CRACK }

🔥 Sin with a Grin { DESIRES }

🔥 Wanted: Dead or Alive { HC }

🔥 Madness in Me { MEME }

🔥 God’s Gonna Cut You Down { MUSINGS }

🔥 Out of Mercy { OOC }

🔥 Bad Company { PROMO }

🔥 Fire It Up { QUEUE }

🔥 Done All Wrong { REFERENCE }

🔥 Survival of the Sickest { SELF-PROMO }

🔥 Devil’s Spoke { SENTENCE STARTER }

[vvellsprung-blog]

tag dump

[furymint]

wc: 1,064 | moonlight. trying to stay up until a loved one comes back home. |  @aethernoise and @foewreckem asked for this one! 

Nolanel had never seen the station so empty. The domed ceiling of the landing rumbled with unseen traffic from the Pillars. People must be there, above in their carriages and ballroom parties, or below in their candlelit bedrooms or crushed around scratched bar counters. He imagined the soldiers passing a whiskey bottle afore assignments separated them from the Congregation, and the carpenters bent in attics to mend biting drafts, the children hiding under sofa pillows to delay bedtime prayers. They were together elsewhere. But if he thought of them he would not surrender to the call of memory and ghosts in the airship landing.

There should have been mothers straightening the collars of their war-bound son's new greatcoat. Sisters should be clustered around the last free bench for a spot to sit while the eldest fetched hot milk from the cart vendor. Along the windows to the sky, where the morning light shone through for a bell, officers and spitfire privates should have been quarreling over a spot in the sun-warmed tile. And--no, no there was nothing here but the mounted clock that ran a minute fast, the hissing gaslights threatening to spark out, and him, standing on the landing platform with half a rumor to tie him to the spot.

Elliot was supposed to come back. The acolyte exchanging the prayer mats for new ones said so. Fine, he should have shot a telegram Josseloux's way, but the priest was at the same family meeting, ingratiating his relatives so they wouldn't question him beyond the cut of his suit. And the son had a recital to attend tomorrow--

Tonight. Nolanel pursed his lips at the fogging clock. First bell. Regardless, he wished he had a letter or promise to comfort himself in the dark of the station, where he feared the treachery of his own mind. Swearing composure to himself, he checked the arrival schedule for the sixth time.

Lights erupted above. Nolanel dropped to the ground, shielding his head with his arms.  Sound drummed through the steel columns and old rafters, and steam shrieked loose of thermal pipes. Shadows flashed up and down the floor with the pulse of warning lights. As the seconds passed, the chaos settled, and Nolanel returned to reality. His knees trembled as he collected himself to stand. Self-reproach deepened his scowl.

As if it had appeared out of the mist, an airship had arrived, landed, and docked in the interim of clangor. From either side of the deck, attendants secured ropes and issued commands. In moments, figures tumbled onto the platform--laborers returned from work contracts--and roamed toward the exit. They avoided Nolanel as another mind-casualty slumming it in the station, and jabbered about their pay as they left.

Pockets of others saying their farewells remained. Nolanel looked over them desperately, straining his hearing against the slamming din and drone of the machinery.

"Yes, thank you graciously for your assistance."

"Never you mind it, sir."

The first voice seemed lined with silver to him; it was like music. Nolanel turned back to the ship and saw him.

Elliot retrieved his luggage from a woman who worked aboard. He inclined his head to her briefly, and his thick fur collar half-obscured the delicate lines of his shoulders. Argyles mixed with masses of flowers across his maroon coat. At his side, his fingers fluttered across the leather handle as he excused himself. He spun and blinked at the ugly ceiling lights, then gave a perfect gasp of Nolanel's name as he ran to him.

Nolanel embraced him and laughed above his questions. Calm accompanied his happiness, and the jar of memory faded from him. He steadied his hand on Elliot's back, listening to his account of the door on the midnight train that rattled like the chains of hell, and how an uncle drank until he nearly fell into the fireplace, and how his utterly rotten cousin tore a cushion to keep from admitting his latest bankruptcy.

"My gods, I'm so glad you didn't come, and that I'm free of it, and that you're here. Would you believe I dreamt this would happen?" Elliot clutched at Nolanel's jacket, absently tracing the bands in lieu of skin.

"What happened next?" Nolanel delicately broke away and stooped to take the luggage case. Speaking grounded him, but he almost aggravated himself thinking how much he missed Elliot's touch, and hated having moved first. In reparation, he slung an arm across Elliot's shoulders and walked with him.

"Snow." He leaned closer, matching their strides. "Do you think it will snow when we make it to the Pillars?"

Nolanel shook his head. "Doubt it."

"I think it will." Elliot flicked Nolanel's cheek with a finger. "Just how did you get here?"

"I walked."

"We'll take a car back."

"Aye." Nolanel scoffed, and when Elliot tried to slip away to order a ride, he pressed his weight into him until they both buckled and separated, laughing.

Moments later, Elliot skipped back with the promise of a car. The fates answered him within minutes, though the chocobo hissed at Nolanel and the luggage rack had been broken by the years.

The driver accepted Elliot's money, unlocked the door, and reprised his seat at the reins.

Spritely, Elliot snapped his wallet shut, hopped up the step, and climbed into the cab. With a noble's ease of manner, he loosed the curtains about the windows.

Nolanel parted the drape, shoved the suitcase into the front seat, and entered. He met Elliot's kiss as he stepped inside, and shut the door with the same motion that drove him into Elliot's arms. He sunk against the seat with him, laughing when their legs caught together in the aisle. The car jerked forward, knocking Elliot's head against the rear window and sending Nolanel crashing to the floor.

He pulled himself up from the worn floor mat, unable to keep himself from smiling, and collapsed next to Elliot. “Quite the dream,” he japed.

“It can still be,” Elliot demurred, closing the distance and taking him by the jaw to kiss. Savoringly, he skimmed his hands down Nolanel's neck, delighted by the quickening pulse and catch of breath. His fingertips met Nolanel's standing collar; he undid the first button and pressed a kiss there.

The car hit a curb and their foreheads smacked together. Elliot whined; Nolanel groaned; both cursed the gods that brought them to each other.

[impala-dreamer]

Wounded

~Michael has fallen, Jack is restored, but things aren't alright, and Dean needs some time to get back to good.~

Sam x Dean, Jack, Cas, Rowena

2,490 Words

Warnings: Heartbreaking Angst. Beautifully glossed over smut. Spoilers for 14x14.

A/N: This will fulfill my Wincest square for @spnkinkbingo 2019. It's mostly angsty poeticness and I do hope that you enjoy.

2019 Kink Bingo Masterlist ~ Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

It took some time for everything to calm down.

They spent the rest of the night moving bodies, friends they’d just really gotten to know. Maggie was last, and Jack insisted on carrying her himself, gently laying her down on the second pyre, giving her cheek a soft kiss before backing away.

Sam couldn’t remember a harder goodbye. Sure, they’d lost people they were closer to, but never under their own roof, never so many at once. He could see the pain in Dean’s face, the guilt that pushed down on his shoulders; Sam could almost read his mind.

“It’s my fault,” he said before striking the first match. “I let him out.”

Sam shook his head and looked to the sky. He wanted to tell Dean that he was wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, that Michael was bound to escape sooner or later, but it didn’t matter. There was no balm for Dean’s pain, or for any of them.

Guilt hung over each of their heads as the flames burned.

Rowena cried in silence, stoically staring into the depths of the fire, her eyes wet and running. Her yes had killed a dozen people. Her weakness had given Michael strength.  

Sam chewed his tongue, trying to find some words to fill the air, hoping some meaning would present itself and make sense of it all, but there was nothing. His reluctance to lose his brother gave Michael the time he needed to escape.

Cas stood beside Jack, a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He couldn’t save anyone that night, nor the night before. He lost the upper hand with Noah, and his ineffectiveness had lead to the fight that brought Dean down, giving Michael his chance.

It was everyone’s fault and no one’s, but it was over.

Michael was dead.

When the last embers had died away and the wind had taken the ashes into itself, they headed back home.

The Bunker was silent. Funny how having so many people around had been a shock, a rather stressful adjustment, but Sam had gotten used to the noise. Now the halls echoed a little louder, the ceilings seemed higher, the rooms colder.

They each went their separate ways, Rowena leaving entirely. It was late and the heaviness of the day wore on them all.

Sam stood alone in the War Room, fingers twitching at the hem of his shirt, eyes high, staring where Michael’s essence had swirled overhead just hours before. For so many months, his demise had been Sam’s ultimate goal, and in a flash, it was over.

The clink of glass caught his ear and he turned to see Dean hunched over the bar cart in the Library. His back was turned but Sam could feel his pain, see it in his shoulders.

Dean tipped his head back as he downed his drink and cleared his throat as he went for another.

“You OK?” Sam made his way down the short stack of stairs, his approach loud but ignored by Dean, who took another shot of whiskey.

“Oh, I’m just fine, Sammy.”

Whiskey sloshed into the tumbler again and Sam came closer.

“Do you want to talk about?”

Dean took a long sip and held it in his mouth, letting the alcohol sting his tongue, numb his mouth a bit. When he swallowed he let out a satisfied sigh and grabbed the bottle, turning with it in his fist. “No, Sam, what I want to do is get drunk and sleep for like… a month.”

“Dean-”

“I said no.”

Dean breezed past his brother and headed for his room, bottle lifting to his lips every few feet. He had a long way to go before the whiskey shut his eyes, and he was in a rush to get there.

Sam let him go without another word, not wanting to fight. He moved about the rooms, quietly turning off lights and righting fallen chairs, making sure the place was somewhat in order before heading off to bed himself. He knew sleep would be elusive, but closing his eyes for a few hours, dreams or not, would be better than pacing the floors in a semi-panic.

Everything had happened so quickly and then it was just… done. It felt unfinished somehow, anticlimactic, and he held his breath as if the other shoe would drop at any second.

Sam pulled off his filthy clothes and shrugged on his pjs, the chilly room forcing him to reach for his long sleeved gray top. He turned off the light and perched on the edge of his bed, elbows digging into his knees while he held his temples.

Everything was OK, he told himself. Everything would be OK. It was a victory, bittersweet and painful in the depths of their losses, but a victory nonetheless.  

He didn’t really notice the knock; Dean’s knuckles barely making a sound as they slid drunkenly down the old varnished wood.

“Sammy?” His voice was slurred and dark, and Sam looked up as Dean pushed the door open.

Fingers pushed through messy hair, tucking it behind his ears. “What’s up?”

Dean sighed and took a swig from the almost empty bottle. He leaned on the door frame, his face in shadow, body haloed by the hallway lights. He hadn’t changed, but his boots were off and his jeans hung low over his socked feet.

“Uh, nothing,” Dean said with a hoarse laugh. “I just wanted to see you.”

Sam sat up, his brow scrunched in question. “Yeah, yeah, come on in.”

It was like that sometimes. After a lifetime of being together constantly, sleeping in the same room, sometimes the same shitty motel bed, it got lonely at night. Dean got especially lonely when he drank like this, when something was weighing on his mind, when he needed comfort.

Dean gave the door a sloppy shove as he walked in, the latch barely catching behind him. He shuffled towards Sam and stopped when his feet were between his brothers. Sam looked up and sighed. Dean was passed drunk, a goofy but sad smile lifting his wet lips.

“You wanna sit and talk?” Sam asked in a whisper, his breath catching in his throat as Dean lay a hand on his cheek. A thick thumb traced the line of Sam's jaw and Dean shook his head slowly.

“Told you, I don't wanna talk about it.” His fingers curled beneath Sam’s chin, lifting his face upwards as Dean bent down.

Sam dodged his kiss, turning away at the last moment. He spun and stood, turning his back on Dean who teetered as Sam’s arm knocked into him.

“Dean, maybe we should just-”

“What, Sam? Talk about it?” Dean huffed loudly and dragged a hand down his face, scratching at the beginnings of a beard. “You want me to lay down and spill my guts like you’re my shrink or something? You need me to pour out my heart to you? Tell ya all about my feelings?” He scoffed and took a drink, turning around awkwardly to sit in the space Sam had vacated. “Not interested.”

Sam closed his eyes and took a breath. There was no use fighting anymore. They’d fought enough for several lifetimes already. But still, he thought, if Dean would just let him in, he could help.

“I want to help you,” he said under his breath, not bothering to look at the eye roll Dean surely gave him in return.

“Sam, we’ve both been through the wringer.” Dean stood again and went to him, a hand on his elbow gently turning Sam around to face him. “Can’t we just...forget it all? Just for tonight?” He offered Sam the bottle but again he was denied. Dean grit his teeth, annoyance rising with every shake of Sam’s head. “Fine. You wanna talk about it? Let’s talk about it!”

“Don’t be like that,” Sam begged, a touch of hurt creeping into his voice. His throat was tight again, his eyes burning, but he had pushed, so he had to bear it.

“No, no,” Dean argued with a hint of mocking levity. “You wanted to talk about it. So let's talk! How ya feelin’, Sammy? Good? Happy?”

“Worried,” Sam squeaked out before peeling his gaze away as Dean drank greedily from the bottle. “Worried about you.”

Dean coughed as a hurtful laugh interrupted his swallow. “I'm right as rain, brother. Michael's dead. Jack's back to his old self. Everyone's...we're all just...fine.” His shoulders fell and he let the bottle hang down, barely gripped in his left fist. He turned his back to Sam as his eyes flooded with tears, no longer caring if they fell or dried.

“You don’t have to pretend.” Sam hung his head, breathing heavy, feeling useless but needing to try. “You’ve been through hell, Dean, and barely given yourself a break. Now that it’s over- maybe you need to decompress a little.”

Dean laughed sadly and lifted the bottle of whiskey, shaking it a bit for Sam’s benefit. The dregs sloshed up the sides like stormy amber waves trapped in a glass cove.

“I don’t mean by getting drunk and passing out every night.”

“I know what you mean.”

Dean’s tone was harsh, and it punched Sam in the chest.

“I know how hard this has been for you,” Sam pushed, dancing around his own wounds.

“You don’t have any idea.” Dean looked over his shoulder, his eyes dropped and heavy, jaw clenched. “He’s been...picking away at me with his bare fists, screaming, tearing at me from the inside. After riding me, twice... I-”

Sam dared to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Dean flinched but didn’t pull away, letting Sam curl his fingers tight around him. “He’s gone, Dean. Michael’s gone.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.”

Dean shrugged his hand away, spinning with the bottle and taking another drink. “We thought he was gone before.”

“He’s dead,” Sam insisted. “You saw it.”

“Didn’t it seem too easy?” Dean swayed on his feet, head back, eyes to the ceiling fan as it spun gently. “When is it ever that easy for us?”

Sam sighed heavily. “It wasn’t easy. We lost- damn near everyone.” He grit his teeth and shut his eyes against the memory of Maggie burning from the inside out. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, at least for Dean’s sake. He was needed, he had to be the strong one for a while. “Why don’t you go get some sleep and tomorrow, maybe things will look different.”

“I don’t want to sleep, Sam.” He turned, eyes red and tired, but pleading.

“But you don’t want to talk.”

Dean scoffed and tongued his cheek in annoyance. “I didn’t come here for a five cent therapy session, Sam.”

“I know why you came here.” Sam looked down on him sadly.

“And yet, you’re sending me to bed.” Dean nodded with a sarcastic smile. “Alone.”

Sam huffed and looked away, done with it all. “Ya know what? Yeah. Go sleep it off, Dean.” He turned, ready to make a point by climbing into bed, but Dean’s pained, whispered accusation stopped him.

“You don’t want me anymore,” Dean sniffed around a fallen tear. “I’m too damaged.”

Sam's eyes narrowed in confusion. “Damaged? Dean, when have either of us not been damaged?”

Green eyes looked up into hazel and Dean’s spiral met its end. “Ya know what? Fuck it.” He spun away, arms raised, whiskey spilling down his hand as it jumped from the bottle. “Just fuck it.”

Sam chased him before he hit the door. “Don’t do this.”

“You sent me away! You did this!” Dean spat back, attempting to step around Sam who was blocking his exit.

“I just think you need to rest, is all.”

Dean looked up, defeated and miserable. “I’ve rested,” he said softly. “What I need… is you.”

“Dean…”

“You know, Michael was right about one thing,” Dean said, ignoring Sam’s call. He chewed his lip as the words came slowly, looking down at their feet, afraid to look Sam in the eye. “When he said he couldn’t keep me under control the first time...” He paused and swatted a tear away with the back of his hand. “...because I was trying so hard to get back...to you.”

Dean looked up finally and Sam’s resistance fell. He reached out, grabbing Dean’s face in his big hands and pulling him up and close. Their lips met like they always did, a comforting heat passing between them. The kiss was full, deep, swirling with fire and pain. It was heaven and hell inside one simple action, and when Sam’s tongue swept firmly across Dean’s bottom lip, they became one being again. They were never complete apart, never able to do more than fight to be reunited, and nights like these, they gave in, letting the sin wash over them so they could take what they both needed.

The whiskey was left somewhere far across the room, and Sam lead Dean slowly towards the bed, picking at the buttons on his flannel as they stumbled backwards. Dean was barely coherent, lost in Sam’s touch, drowning in whiskey, but he could feel every swipe of Sam’s fingers, every press of his lips. He could relax in Sam’s arms and float for a while.

They tumbled around, making a mess of Sam’s neatly made bed, tossing pillows to the floor and tangling in the blanket, trying to remember their rhythm. It was magic when they found it; hands falling to hips, teeth sinking into shoulders, lips flying across freckled fields of smooth skin.  

The air was heavy when Sam laid back down; Dean curling in on himself and turning away, his hands tucked beneath his cheek. Sam fit his hands beneath his head and found his favorite spot on the ceiling. It was a crack just above the fan, and some nights, if he stared long enough, the crack would start to move, spread wide across the entire ceiling and threaten to swallow him whole. As terrifying as the image always was, some days he longed for it, for the emptiness that would in that darkness. But not tonight. He blinked the vision away and turned his head, watching Dean’s shoulders move as he fell asleep, wondering if he was dreaming or lost in his own void.

“We’re all wounded, Dean,” he whispered as a gentle snore rose from his brother. “All of us. But it’s how we heal that matters.” Sam rolled onto his side and traced the curve of Dean’s lower back with his index finger; just a light touch that made Dean’s hips twitch. “We just have to take the time do it.”

Dean stirred, pulling in a deep breath and mumbling into the sheets as he turned over more. “Night, Sammy.”

Sam sighed and rolled onto his back again, searching for the crack once more. “Night, Dean.”

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @deanwinchesterwitch @dubuforeveralone @ellen-reincarnated1967 @emilyshurley @emptywithout @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @hazeleyesstolemyheart @hawaiianohana15 @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @jayankles @justcallmeasmodeus​ @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mjdoc90 @mrswhozeewhatsis @our-jensen-ackles-love  @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @sculptorofbeginnings @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @tabrown2021 @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @vampiratehuntressthings @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride @winchesterxfamilybusiness